


I'll Keep Them Still

by Thoughts Like A Minefield (Incog_Ninja)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Dream Sex, F/M, Song Lyrics, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 14:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20909279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Thoughts%20Like%20A%20Minefield
Summary: Dean remembers promises and pictures in his mind. And he remembers her.





	I'll Keep Them Still

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my drafts for months. It’s based on the song Between The Bars by Elliott Smith. Each section begins with a verse from the song.

_ _

_Drink up, baby, stay up all night  
_

_With the things you could do, you won’t but you might_

_The potential you’ll be that you’ll never see_

_The promises you’ll only make_

Dean always imagined she’d taste like cherry pie straight off the windowsill, hot and sticky and sugared. Instead, she tastes like fresh-picked cherries, supple and warm and tart as she is sweet, spilling into his mouth.

“Jo,” he whispers, sliding up slowly, savoring every nuanced shift in her heat, flavor, and breath. “Where’ve you been?”

He settles over her, between her slick, bare thighs, pushes inside her. She’s tight but welcoming – soft, deep and winding. She holds truths left untold, things he wants to hear her voice whisper in delight. He wants to tell her things, too.

She doesn’t answer right away, she just smiles, cups his jaw and lifts her knees aside his languorously thrusting hips. “I never left, Dean,” she finally speaks, and her voice is like a distant bell.

“No,” he insists, tucking his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling deep. “No, you died…” He lifts his head, frantic, searching the depths of her lush earth eyes. “You- you came back, but you were dead.”

“Shh,” she quiets him, places a fingertip over his lips. “I’m here now, Dean, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean lets go a sigh and drops his forehead to hers, recalibrates his drive into her warm, willing center. She takes him, all of him, inside where so many secrets lie.

She’s breathing his name and God’s as they come together, flying and grounded and one.

* * *

_Drink up with me now and forget all about_

_The pressure of days, do what I say_

_And I’ll make you okay and drive them away_

_The images stuck in your head_

“Dean,” she laughs and twirls away from him, toward the Impala. “Come on!”

Her laugh – he can’t get enough of it. She’s full of joy in this place. She’s sunshine and honey-sweet.

There are no knives here. There are no demons and no monsters.

She’s swaying in blissful silence under the bright summer rays, her dress, gossamer and flowing just below her knees. The light shimmers around her, beckoning his gaze, drawing him in.

But he can’t move – doesn’t want to move.

“Dean, we’ll be late if we don’t leave now,” she says.

She isn’t angry, though, and she isn’t scolding. She’s all warmth and life under the beams of color as the energy of the world clings to her bodice and kisses her lips gold and green.

“I don’t wanna go,” he says, reaching for her from the shaded recess. “I just wanna be with you.”

Jo’s smile stretches wide as she dances toward him, slides across his lap, cool and delicate. Her cheeks are pink, and she smells like crisp, sun-dried cotton, warm and fresh.

He could stay right here forever – with her. He wants for nothing but her when he’s here.

“We don’t have to go anywhere,” she mutters, looping her slim, pale arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder.

“Then let’s stay,” he says, wrapping his arms around her tight so she has to stay. “I’ll sing you a song.”

“Mmm…” Jo presses her lips to his throat, and Dean begins to hum her favorite tune.

* * *

_D_ _rink up, baby, look at the stars_

_I’ll kiss you again, between the bars_

_Where I’m seeing you there, with your hands in the air_

_Waiting to finally be caught_

The night sky is jet shot with diamonds, but Jo isn’t the kind of girl you give diamonds. Jo’s the kind of girl you give the universe. You give her immeasurable colors and shapes, swirling into infinity.

“You’re on the edge,” he says, sipping his beer and watching her wander.

He doesn’t like to let her out of his sight, hates seeing her go, but he loves just watching her. She won’t leave him; she promised, and he believes her.

“The edge of what?” she asks, her voice quiet and small.

“Are you tired, Jo?” Dean asks. “C’mere. Let me hold you.”

She turns and faces him. Her smile is as small as her voice, burgeoning into sadness. “The edge of what, Dean?”

Dean shakes his head.

“The edge of… here,” he answers, and she frowns.

“I told you I’m not going anywhere, Dean,” she says, pushing herself up to sit on the hood of the Impala as it glows deep and bright under the stars and the moon.

Dean discards his bottle and stands from where he’s sat on the cooler. He slots himself between her open knees and pulls her to the lip of the hood.

“Lay back,” he says, and she sighs, her small smile chasing away the frown as she sprawls backward, stretches her arms up over her head, fanning her hair around her face.

“Come inside me, Dean,” she whispers, reaching for him from where she lays.

He blankets her body with his own to keep them hidden from the rest.

* * *

_Drink up one more time and I’ll make you mine_

_Keep you apart, deep in my heart_

_Separate from the rest, where I like you the best_

_And keep the things you forgot_

He’ll never know how to make her come when he needs her, but she’s imminent – always. He doesn’t tell Sam or Cas about Jo’s visits, about her breath, how alive she is, how she keeps him right.

“It’s OK, ya know,” she says. “You don’t have to tell them about me.”

“I know, I just…” Dean shakes his head, and she sinks down over him, takes every inch of his soul and body.

“No one needs to know,” she affirms.

Heaven and earth and Hell move as she moves over him. She squeezes on the up and kisses him on the down. She holds his eyes then, rides him deftly, fully – her hands in his hair.

Dean grips her hips, presses his fingers tight until he leaves marks. He always leaves marks on her, marks what’s his, what will never belong to anyone or anywhere else.

Jo leans forward, hovers her lips, warm and moist next to his ear as she tightens around him and he swells inside her.

“Don’t forget me,” she whispers as they both come undone.


End file.
